


On Shirts and Snogging

by avatar_dragon_rider



Series: in your arms (i see a future) [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: BARELY FUCKING THERE LIGHT, COME ON GUYS I'M NOT THAT EVIL, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, LIKE SO LIGHT, Light Angst, M/M, References™, STILL cannot believe that is a tag, Sexual Tension, Shirtless, Tight Pants, Tight Spaces, Top Newt, [cue the discord scream-crying in the distance], apparently, because i have no sense of self control, bia and amanda spent hours fucking SCREECHING at me in discord dms, everything in this series is tmh compliant, galaxies and constellations, goddamn so much sexual tension, i expect livereads people, i fucking hate formatting, i seem to like space themes, i stayed up all fucking night to finish this and watch people scream, it's a major fucking bitch, jerking off, like seriously i think my eardrums are bleeding, newt's hair, not all of them are intentional, part 2 is in progress, references everywhere, scarves are not appropriate cumrags newt, so many goddamn italics, so there's a space theme, this is also tmh compliant, thomas's moles, too-small shirts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avatar_dragon_rider/pseuds/avatar_dragon_rider
Summary: Or: Newt needs to Take A Walk™---Newt shut his eyes, hoping to whatever deity was listening that it was too dark for Thomas to see his face. He was suddenly acutely aware of how little personal space they had. Their bare chests were pressed together, hip bones digging into each other’s stomachs. Along with…other things that were touching through layers of fabric that all of a sudden felt extremely thin and at the same time way too constricting.Alternately: Newt and Thomas are trapped in a tight space and things get pretty heated





	On Shirts and Snogging

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Talk Me Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874430) by [comebacknow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebacknow/pseuds/comebacknow). 



> I FULLY BLAME KATH FOR THIS! In her liveread of "Babies and Bumblings" she said I should have had Thomas change shirts and have Newt drool over Thomas's naked torso. Then this monstrosity happened. The boys needed r e l e a s e, okay

Newt returned Ian to his parents, filled Fran in on the diaper change. She thanked him, told him she was glad she could trust him with her son, and Newt left her with a smile and a promise that he’s always there for her if she ever needs an extra set of hands with the baby.

All around him, people were starting to get ready to leave. Bernard had gotten Josh out from underneath Joe’s truck; he’d somehow managed to get himself stuck in the sand and had to be dug free. Harriet was organizing her supply of guns to make sure all of them were in working condition. Brenda, Frypan, and Matt were picking the cards out of the sand while Vince filled Jorge in on the plan for their next stop.

Now for Newt’s next problem: Thomas wearing that pee-stained shirt around. Absolutely not.

Newt returned to Jorge’s truck, where Thomas stood waiting for him. “Okay Tommy, seriously, you cannot keep wearing that shirt.” 

“What?” Thomas looked confused. As usual. “Why not?”

Newt’s nose scrunched up in distaste, his arms crossed over his chest. He shifted his weight to his good leg―his way of showing he meant business. “You have a line of dried baby pee on your shirt. You are not going to keep wearing that until the next pit stop.”

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but Newt held up a hand and Thomas closed his mouth immediately. The only good way to shut him up, though Newt could never quite figure out why. “Don’t argue. I have a shirt I picked up when we last went scavenging for supplies. You can wear that until we get a chance to wash yours.” He gathered up the diaper changing supplies and put them back in Fran’s bag, then kicked sand over the used diaper to bury it.

“Newt―”

“Nope.” Newt opened the back passenger door to Jorge’s truck and put Fran’s bag back in the same place he’d found it before. “I told you, no arguing.” He dug around in the backseat until he found his backpack and pulled out the new shirt. A thought jumped into his head that the shirt might be too small for Thomas. Newt dismissed it immediately. They’d shared shirts before, this should be no different. Newt was pretty sure the shirt he was wearing now was worn by Thomas at least once. It would be fine, totally fine.

“Come on.” Shirt draped over his shoulder, he grabbed Thomas’s wrist and started pulling him away from camp.

Thomas stumbled after him, blinking rapidly. “You’re coming with me?”

“Obviously. You really think I’m going to let you wander off on your own?” Newt gave a signal to Frypan with his free hand, letting him know they were heading off for a little bit. Frypan signaled back, and Newt walked a little faster. He didn’t want to hold up the group any more than he had to. “We travel in pairs, remember? Besides, like hell am I letting you out of my sight for more than two bloody seconds.”

Thomas snickered, sliding his wrist out of Newt’s grip and speeding up to walk beside him. “Okay, I suppose I deserve that. I do have a habit of acting recklessly.”

Newt just rolled his eyes and elbowed Thomas in the ribs. “Sod off.”

 

The cluster of buildings was really just that: a cluster of buildings. It looked like it might once have been a cul-de-sac, considering how the ruins were arranged in a near-complete circle. Half of them were collapsed completely, all of them had broken windows, and it looked like a prime hiding place for Cranks. Wonderful.

Even from the center of the circle, Newt could still see the trucks at the camp, lined up in their convoy. They were too far away to be heard, which didn’t entirely sit well with Newt, but it was either be hidden in the cul-de-sac or exposed in the Scorch. Newt would have personally preferred being exposed in the Scorch; they were just changing shirts, not getting naked. But Thomas was convinced they could poke around the ruins and maybe find some supplies, and Newt didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

“Besides,” Thomas had said, “the buildings block the wind. I’d like to not have sand in my abs, thanks.”

Newt had snorted at that. “What abs?”

It had evidently been his turn to get elbowed in the ribs.

Thomas found them a spot behind a building, and immediately Newt snapped his fingers to get Thomas moving. “Alright, strip. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to.”

Thomas chuckled and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over what used to be a mailbox “Scared they’ll leave without us?”

“No. I’m scared of the Cranks that are probably sleeping in these shacks waiting to jump out and attack us like they did in the mall.”

“Relax, Newt,” Thomas said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “If there were any Cranks here, they’d have heard us and attacked by now. I swear we’re safe. We wouldn’t have made camp so close to this place if we didn’t think it was clear.” 

Newt crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of a half-collapsed house, determinedly _not_ staring at the trail of hair below Thomas’s navel. Or the faint definition of abs above it. Or the biceps framing a pale chest that sprouted tiny dark hairs. Or the dip in his collarbone that begged to have a tongue mapping every curve. Or the moles that turned his whole upper body into its own little galaxy. Newt traced his tongue along his upper lip, imagined connecting those dark stars into a million constellations.

“Newt?”

Thomas’s voice sent Newt crashing back down to Earth. He tore his gaze away from the last place he’d been staring at―a particular mole on Thomas’s neck―and forced himself to look into his eyes. Yes, eyes. Eyes were safe. Soft, gentle, puppy-dog eyes, whose color reminded him of the soil in the Glade’s gardens. Reminded him of the only home he’d ever known, and the good times he’d had there.

 _Focus, Newt._ “Yeah, Tommy?”

It was then that Newt realized Thomas was holding his hand out. “I need the shirt.”

“Oh. Right.” Newt mentally smacked himself across the face. He’d been so caught up in _not_ staring that he forgot what they were really there for. He tugged the shirt down from its spot on his shoulder and handed it to Thomas, who took it with a nod.

With Thomas distracted, Newt allowed his thoughts to wander back into outer space. Which, admittedly, was something he generally avoided doing, especially when he was in Thomas’s presence. These were dangerous, dangerous thoughts, and the last thing Newt wanted was to make a huge show of his feelings and then end up getting rejected. 

No, wait, that made it sound like Thomas wouldn’t care. Thomas would definitely care, he wouldn’t just write Newt off. If anything, he’d say there was no time for that with the rescue mission going on and the plan to take down WCKD. 

Which, of course, Newt understood. He wanted Minho back just as much as Thomas did. Perhaps even more than Thomas did. Minho had saved Newt’s buggin’ life, dragged his sorry ass back to the Glade, and had agreed without question to keep the truth from Alby and the rest of the Gladers. Minho meant more to Newt than Newt even meant to himself. He couldn’t bear to imagine a world where he didn’t have Minho.

But Thomas? Thomas was different. Thomas was something Newt had never felt before. Something he thought he would never get the chance to feel. He liked to look back on the day Thomas first arrived in the Glade. Newt had known then that there was something special about Thomas, something that attracted Newt like a magnet. Not necessarily in a romantic or sexual way, at least not in that moment, but the potential was there. The potential was always there, sitting in the back of his mind, manifesting in the form of dreams about trucks and blankets and Thomas and…closeness. That was what he really craved. Closeness. Proximity. He wanted to be able to touch Thomas in every way imaginable, wanted Thomas to touch him the same way. Their bond was already unique, special, but Newt wanted _more._ A type of more that was not conducive to a rescue mission.

“Hey Newt?” 

Thomas’s voice cut right into Newt’s thoughts. Again. An annoying habit he had. Newt blinked slowly to bring himself back and met Thomas’s eyes to at least make it _look_ like he was paying attention and not spacing out. “Yeah, Tommy?”

“We, uh…might need to find me a different shirt.” Thomas rolled his shoulders a little, and Newt heard a stitch pop somewhere. “This one’s a bit tight.”

Newt cleared his throat, eyeing the way the shirt clung to Thomas’s chest and highlighted _every_ single curve. Absently, he tugged on the collar of his own shirt, which he remembered was one Thomas has worn before. Newt moved away from the wall he’d been leaning against and slipped out of his jacket.

He didn’t miss the way Thomas’s eyes bulged. “Uh, Newt? What are you doing?”

“Giving you my shirt,” Newt said, as if this should have been completely obvious. Then again, Thomas was oblivious as all hell, and wouldn’t know a hint if it smacked him between the eyes.

“Will it fit?”

“Don’t see why it wouldn’t.” Newt hung his jacket up on a fencepost and pulled his shirt over his head. “You’ve worn this shirt before, and I’m skinnier than you anyway.”

Thomas huffed a laugh and carefully slipped out of his shirt, oblivious to Newt’s eyes locked on that goddamn happy trail. “Yeah, you have a point there. You’re like a string bean, you need―”

An inhuman screech sliced through Thomas’s sentence, and both boys dropped their shirts and froze. Newt’s eyes snapped up to Thomas’s before the screech even finished. Thomas put a finger to his lips and Newt nodded, feeling his heart rate pick up. While Thomas slowly turned toward the direction the sound had come from, Newt looked back at the trucks. From this distance, it was hard to see their friends, but Newt hoped they were all safe in the trucks and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He didn’t want a single person getting hurt at the hands of a Crank.

As if the mere thought had summoned it, another screech tore through the silence. Thomas grabbed Newt’s wrist and pulled him into the nearest shack before Newt had a chance to breathe, shutting the door and locking it.

“Thomas, what are you doing?!” Newt hissed. 

“Quiet!” Thomas shot back, his voice no more than a whisper. “If it can’t see us or hear us, it’ll pass right over us. We’ll be fine. Worked for us in the mall, didn’t it?”

Newt huffed, biting back the insult he’d been about to hurl at Thomas’s intelligence. “Well, you could at least have shoved us somewhere with more space.”

They were standing in what must have once been a front entrance, but the collapse of the walls and ceiling turned it essentially into a broom closet. Newt barely had enough room to turn in a circle.

“Shut up, Newt.” Thomas tipped his head back to try and look through a crack in the door. 

Newt was extremely still; the only movement he made was his chest expanding and contracting, his breaths light and quiet. He tried to focus on that and not on how close the walls were. He didn’t like being trapped. It reminded him too much of the walls that surrounded the Glade, keeping him enclosed in a false world with no chance of escape. He hated it. He hated every second of his life there, he hated being trapped, and now he was _stuck in a bloody broom closet_ with Thomas while a Crank was outside probably looking to eat them. No way that thing wouldn’t find them, no way―

A gunshot cut into Newt’s thoughts, and it was then that he realized how quickly he’d been breathing. In the slivers of light that came in through the cracks in the debris, he could see Thomas looking at him with his eyebrows raised, his eyes full of concern. Newt gave a slight nod, hoped Thomas got the message, then leaned forward a bit to try and get a glimpse of the outside.

“Is it gone?” he whispered.

Thomas watched Newt for a long moment before peering out through the hole again. “Looks like it. No doubt that gunshot came from Harriet or Vince.”

“You think it went to camp?” Newt’s heart rate started to pick up again.

Thomas shook his head. “No. It didn’t sound like it came from here. Sounded like it came from the other side of camp. It might have come from one of the nearby towns and just happened to wander too close to camp.”

That didn’t make Newt feel better at all. “We should get back to them. Before more show up.”

Thomas nodded and turned the doorknob. Or, at least, he tried. The thing barely moved an inch before stopping with a loud _clack._ Thomas cursed under his breath and tried to turn it back the other way, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Here, let me try.” Newt muscled his way forward, ignoring the feeling of Thomas’s bare chest suddenly pressed against his, and tried the knob. Tried turning, twisting, pulling, pushing. Nothing worked.

“Maybe we can kick it,” Thomas suggested.

“And how the bloody hell do you suppose we do that?” Newt really wished he had space to cross his arms. “I can barely lift my elbows. How do you expect to have enough room to kick anything?”

“Um…” Thomas bit the corner of his lip, his eyes darting back and forth. “Okay, let’s not panic. We’re not that far from camp. They’re probably still packing everything up, and when they notice we haven’t come back yet, they’ll come looking for us. We’ll get out of this and everything will be fine.”

Newt sighed, leaning his head back until it hit the wooden wall behind him. “You’re just lucky I don’t have to piss.”

“Oh please don’t say that, you’ll jinx us.”

Newt snorted, then fell silent. Thomas didn’t say anything else.

 

They stayed like that for several minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Newt tried to focus his on Thomas, like he usually did when he was trying to distract himself from more worrying thoughts. Like how long they’d be stuck here, if there were more Cranks out there, if Vince would leave them behind to save the group, how long it would take them to realize Newt and Thomas had been gone for a while, how long they’d actually _been_ gone, how Thomas was feeling about being stuck in here with Newt, how Thomas’s body would move against Newt’s every couple minutes as he tried to get comfortable (which Newt understood, his leg had started to cramp a bit) and how their… 

_Oh, fuck._

He willed his thoughts to go back to worrying things, but they decided to stay firmly on Thomas and how his lower half was pressing into Newt’s. Bugger.

Newt shut his eyes, hoping to whatever deity was listening that it was too dark for Thomas to see his face. He was suddenly _acutely_ aware of how little personal space they had. Their bare chests were pressed together, hip bones digging into each other’s stomachs. Along with… _other_ things that were touching through layers of fabric that all of a sudden felt _extremely_ thin and at the same time _way_ too constricting.

Thomas shifted against him and Newt’s breath hitched. Flashes of the dream he’d had some time ago raced through his mind, and the similarity of the situation was not lost on him.

“You okay, Newt?” Thomas’s voice sounded far too loud.

Newt nodded, his eyes remaining tightly closed. No way he could look Thomas in the face like this. He couldn’t last time, and this time they were _so much closer._ “I’m fine. Just…not fond of tight spaces, is all.” There. That should put Thomas off enough that he might not notice the actual issue. Curse Newt’s inability to keep his body under control.

“Shit, Newt, I’m sorry. Let me just―” Thomas moved again, trying to put more space between them, but in the process he practically _thrust his hips_ into Newt and the boy had to bite his tongue to keep from making noise. 

He wished for death. Just one tiny, insignificant little death. Anything to get out of this situation.

“Tommy, stop.”

“Hang on.” More movement. More shifting. More heat pooling in his gut. “I’ve almost―”

"Thomas." Newt's hands shot forward, grabbing Thomas's hips. His fingers dug into the soft skin above the bones. "Stop. Bloody. _Moving."_ Shit, he sounded so tense, even to himself. His words were too fast, too short, he sounded desperate. Maybe Thomas wouldn’t notice.

“Newt, are you sure you’re…” 

Fuck, he noticed. 

Thomas froze before he could finish his sentence, and Newt absolutely refused to open his eyes. He could feel the change in the air as Thomas slowly worked it out. _Of all times for him to be observant, why bloody now?_

“Are you―”

“Thomas, please, for once in your goddamn life, stop asking questions and shut up.”

On the one hand, Thomas did shut up. On the other, there was now the complete and utter embarrassment that Thomas _knew_ and at some point Newt would eventually have to look him in the eyes again. It was bad enough when his dream had this effect on him; at least back then he was able to hide it. But here? In this tight space with every inch, literally _every inch_ of him pressed up against Thomas? There was no escape. He could only hope Thomas didn’t look at him differently because of this. How could he? They’re boys, it’s pressure and heat and proximity and―

Wait.

Hold on a minute.

Newt shifted a bit, and this time Thomas’s breath hitched.

 _Oh._

Newt’s thoughts came to a crashing halt. What now? Was this just because of the closeness, from the rubbing, like Newt pretended it was? Or was it something else entirely? Thomas couldn’t actually be interested, could he? The small touches, the stolen glances, the whispered conversations in the darkened Scorch while everyone else was asleep. It couldn’t actually be…could it? No, it couldn’t. It was just wishful thinking. Seeing things that weren’t there.

It was in that moment that Newt realized his hands were still on Thomas’s hips. But more than that, they’d fallen a bit, so his fingers were curled in the waistband of Thomas’s pants.

“Shit, sorry, mate.” Newt’s voice sounded like it had when he’d first come up in the Glade, in those first few months before puberty had struck and his voicebox decided it wanted to play bass. He removed his hands from Thomas’s sides, but no sooner had he worked his fingers free than Thomas was grabbing his wrists.

“No, it’s okay.” Thomas didn’t sound much better; he was breathless, his voice uneven. Knowing he was affected by this just as badly as Newt was…calming, in a sense. Did nothing to dispel the heat, though.

Thomas returned Newt’s hands to the place they’d abandoned. “You can keep them there. If it…I don’t know, if it helps? To keep me still. So you don’t, um…”

Newt found the strength to open his eyes. In what little light they had, he could see Thomas’s flushed face, turned to the side to avoid Newt’s gaze. Well, at least neither of them were alone in their embarrassment.

They stayed that way, Newt’s hands on Thomas’s hips and Thomas’s hands on Newt’s forearms, for a hundred and twenty-three heartbeats; Newt counted each one, it gave him something to do. It didn’t pull his focus away from Thomas, unfortunately. Every time he moved, Newt’s hands would tighten on Thomas’s hips, and he’d freeze. Thomas would do the same to Newt’s arms, up near his elbows, whenever he moved.

But it wasn’t enough. They were still there, stuck in a hole, pressed against each other, completely alone… 

A thought struck Newt. If both of them were in the same condition, what cause was there to be embarrassed? Not like they could hide it anyway. Besides, something had been building since the failed rescue, since the raid on the Right Arm, since the escape from the WCKD facility, hell, ever since Thomas first came up in the bloody Box. Newt felt it, he knew Thomas felt it. So what was holding them back?

Newt bit his lip.

He moved one hand slowly up from Thomas’s hip, over his side, along his ribs, around to his chest and up to his shoulder, counting every single mole he felt under his fingers. 

He heard Thomas’s breath catch in his throat, felt his hand fall away from the one Newt had moved. “Newt?”

Newt said nothing. He rubbed his finger on Thomas’s collarbone, following the dip that not ten minutes ago had called out for him to trace it with his tongue. He wanted to, _God,_ how he wanted to. But what if Thomas didn’t?

Thomas’s hand found its way down to Newt’s wrist, and by then his grip was loose. Other than the whisper of Newt’s name, Thomas had done nothing to stop Newt from going further. But that still didn’t mean he wanted Newt to go further. The last thing Newt wanted was to do something that Thomas’s didn’t want, something that would hurt him, tarnish their friendship. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened.

A _tap tap_ of knuckles against his own.

Newt’s self control crumbled.

He dove for Thomas’s shoulder, mouth replacing fingers. He felt Thomas’s heart hammering, echoing the pattern of his own. A sigh as Newt’s lips parted, tongue slipping out to taste hot skin. Another whisper of his name when he moved to Thomas’s neck, leaving a trail of soft, feather-light kisses. He chose the junction of Thomas’s neck and throat to leave a mark, feeling more than hearing the groan it pulled from Thomas’s throat.

One of them moved, Newt wasn’t sure who, but flesh rubbed against flesh through four layers of clothes and both boys moaned. Newt’s fingers dug into Thomas’s shoulder and he lifted his head, met Thomas’s eyes. A beam of light hit his cheek, highlighting a mole. A single dark star, separated from the galaxy it belonged to. Curling his fingers into Thomas’s collarbone, Newt pulled himself in and touched his lips to those of the shank who’d stolen his heart, who’d set him free in a way no one else ever could.

He pulled back just as quickly, panic gripping him. What had possessed him to do that? To do any of this?

“Newt,” Thomas breathed, pleading. His breath smelled of mint; how long has he been stealing Newt’s leaves? Bugger. “Newt, God, please, don’t stop.”

Oh, that’s right.

Thomas dipped his head and crashed their lips together in a kiss that breathed life into every cell in Newt’s body.

Newt wanted to punch himself for that horrid attempt at a first kiss. This one was _so much better._ It was heated, so heated, with clacking teeth and tongues shoved together and lips moving in tandem. Hands gripped shoulders, hips, collarbones, waistbands. Newt kept his eyes screwed shut, terrified that if he opened them, he’d find it was all a dream. That he’d never left the campsite, forced Thomas to change his shirt, got stuck in this tight, tight space and was pressed chest-to-chest with his best friend and was _literally snogging his brains out, what the bloody fuck?_

He supposed the term ‘best friend’ wasn’t entirely accurate anymore.

Thomas’s hips jerked forward, right into Newt, and Newt gasped into Thomas’s mouth. Thomas pulled back, the concern from earlier back in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Reflex.”

“Please, Tommy,” Newt begged, breathless from the kiss. His head was spinning, his body felt about a hundred degrees too hot, he needed _more._ “Please, don’t stop.”

He ground his own hips against Thomas’s, his erection straining against the fabric keeping it captive. Newt latched onto Thomas’s neck, biting and sucking and licking. Thomas was practically panting, one hand on Newt’s shoulder and his other gripping Newt’s belt like a lifeline. Newt wished for nothing more than for Thomas to pull that damn belt off, take him in hand and jerk him the fuck off. Seriously, he was gonna lose it if they kept this up.

As if Thomas had pulled the thought straight from Newt’s brain, he started working at Newt’s belt, undoing it and letting it hang open. Newt’s too-large jeans dropped on his hips, leaving _plenty_ of room for Thomas to put his hand in already, goddammit. This was the slowest, cruelest foreplay.

Deciding he’d had enough, Newt took charge. He surged up, reclaimed Thomas’s lips and swept his tongue over the roof of his mouth. He swallowed the moan the action drew from Thomas and moved his hands down Thomas’s body, only stopping when he reached the top of his pants. He broke the kiss and looked at Thomas, asking, pleading. He had to be sure.

Thomas’s answer again came not in words, but in actions. He ducked his head and mouthed Newt’s neck, moving down to his collarbone, mirroring the movements Newt had made mere minutes ago.

Newt’s hips bucked, earning a groan from Thomas, and Newt had to fight the urge to curl his fingers into Thomas’s sides and let him take control. No. He’s wanted this for too long to give in now. No way was he going to submit that easily. Thomas was gonna have to work for it.

It was a tight fit, but Newt managed to tug Thomas’s pants down far enough to free his throbbing cock. Thomas groaned again, hips pushing forward and forcing Newt’s hand to move along his shaft. Newt released a shuddering breath as he felt fabric brush against his hips, a hand reaching in to pull him out.

Newt nearly lost everything right then and there.

_No. Not yet. Focus. Make him wait for it._

Newt had been dreaming of this moment for weeks, maybe months; how long ago had they sat together by that log in the Glade sharing Gally’s brew? Too long. This was his moment and he was going to seize it.

Along with one other thing he wanted to seize.

He tightened his fingers around Thomas’s cock, moving slowly up and down the length, taking care to curl his thumb around the tip whenever he could. He lived for the way Thomas’s teeth would dig into his shoulder whenever Newt made that move. He only paused to bat Thomas’s hand away from him, whispering a “patience, Tommy” into his ear, coupled with a nip on the lobe.

Newt moved his hand and allowed flesh to finally meet flesh. Instinct kicked in and Newt thrusted once, twice, into Thomas’s groin before regaining control. _Not yet,_ he reminded himself. _Not yet._

Thomas gasped for breath, pulling his head away from Newt’s shoulder and dropping it against the wall at his back. His hands dove into Newt’s hair, grabbing, twisting, pulling. It hurt, but Newt was too distracted by Thomas’s words to care.

“Newt, please…I can’t―please―don’t stop…”

“What is it you want, Tommy?” Newt whispered. He pushed his hips forward, trapping their cocks together and shifting so they rubbed against each other. _God,_ it felt so good, it took everything Newt had to hold himself together.

“Please, please, please…”

“Please what? Use your words, love.” Newt snuck his hand between their bodies and stroked Thomas’s cock with a single finger. “What is it you want?”

“Everything. Anything. You, Newt, just you, I want _you.”_

Newt smirked and stilled his finger, pulling his hand away and placing it instead on Thomas’s hip. “I’ll bring some of Fry’s almond oil for the next time we’re stuck somewhere.” He pressed his lips to Thomas’s, rubbing their hips together. This time, the kiss barely lasted longer than a few seconds; Thomas pulled away and tipped his head back again, panting, exposing his neck and inviting Newt to nip at his pulse point.

Newt was on the edge. By God, he might have been winning the battle with Thomas, but he was losing the war with himself. Thomas had his hands on Newt’s hips, trying to control the pace, but Newt wasn’t having it. He kept it slow, refused to go faster, he wanted to _tease,_ damn it. He waited this long, he was going to enjoy it. 

He reached between them again and took Thomas in hand. He moved up and down the shaft at first a slow pace, then steadily faster until Thomas was all but squirming, thrusting himself into Newt’s hand. His fingers brushed against his own cock as he moved, and Newt bit into Thomas’s shoulder to muffle his sounds. They were so close together that everything was touching and rubbing against everything. Neither of them were going to last much longer.

Thomas’s fingers suddenly dug into Newt’s hips, hard. “Newt, Newt stop, I’m―”

“Shh…” Newt lifted his head and quieted Thomas’s pleas with a kiss, pressing Thomas’s tongue down with his own. With his free hand, he pulled his red scarf out of his pocket and quickly slid it between them, wrapping it around their cocks. He pulled away only to whisper “let go for me” against Thomas’s lips, and Newt swallowed his cries in his next kiss.

Less than a second later, Thomas did the same for Newt.

 

“Newt!”

“Thomas!”

“Thomas! Newt!”

“Where the hell are you boys?!”

Thomas peeked out through the crack in the door and smiled. “They found us. Where’s that scarf?”

“Here.” Newt grabbed his red scarf from where it was hung on a piece of wood that jutted from the wall. His hair was an absolute mess from earlier, and both of them were peppered in marks. A new galaxy. A shared galaxy. “Think we can sneak this into the laundry bag with your shirt?”

“Of course we can,” Thomas said, tucking the scarf into his back pocket. “No one will even notice.”

“Good, because I happen to like this scarf.”

Thomas snickered then started shouting. “Hey! We’re in here!”

“Get us out!” Newt joined in. “We’re stuck!”

“Guys?” Frypan’s voice, suddenly right outside the door. “Hang on, we’ll get you out. Vince, your shotgun!”

“Stay back, boys.”

Newt turned his head away from the door, hiding his face in Thomas’s shoulder. He felt Thomas’s nose in his hair as the sound of splintering wood hit his ears. Vince was slamming the butt of his shotgun into the door, using it as a battering ram to try and break the door down. From the sound of it, he was hammering into the wood of the door near the hinges. Grunts came from Frypan as he tried to force the knob to turn.

It took almost ten minutes, but Vince finally broke the door off its hinges, which allowed Newt and Thomas to push it open from the inside. Frypan reached in and pulled Newt out first, and Thomas followed shortly after.

“You boys okay?” Vince asked, clapping Thomas on the shoulder.

“We’re alright. Though, can we take a few minutes before we leave?” Thomas smirked in Newt’s direction. “I have to piss.”

Newt erupted in laughter at the joke only two people in the world understood.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate, extended ending:  
> Thomas sat alone in his cabin, reading the words Newt had wrote for what felt like the millionth time. It probably was about the millionth time. By now he’d memorized everything about that letter, from the slant of the words to the feel of the pages to the way he could hear Newt speaking those painful sentences in his head. He thought about everything he never allowed himself to think about before. About Newt, and everything that wonderful, amazing boy had been to Thomas. What Thomas had never given him the chance to be. He rubbed the scar that had been left above his heart by the very knife that had claimed the one he loved. It was then that he decided, tears moistening his eyes, he would never allow himself to feel that way about anyone else. Because as much as they would try, they would never be him.  
> \---  
> Special thanks to Kath for expanding on the one smutty snippet I'd sent into discord. Without that and Splinter as a guide, I never would have finished this.


End file.
